Desired Life
by FireSprite and MochaButterfly
Summary: An ancient book created by warriors of the past all guard one thing; immortality. When Voldemort sends Draco Malfoy to retrieve it, he runs into a problem: Ginny Weasley. She owns the book, and she's not giving it up. Ever.
1. Chapter One: Plagas Deuses

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Desired Life

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Plagas Deuses: I

By: FireSprite and MochaButterfly

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Ginny Weasley lay by the fire on her sofa, a huge blanket wrapped around her petite frame. Her eyes drifted open and closed; never quite asleep, yet never quite awake. She stared into the fire, as if her eyes were memorised by the flames leaping and jumping around inside the fireplace. It crackled and sizzled as each flame burned the wood behind the grate. The colour played upon her face, heating it as it made her skin look warm and inviting while her hair caught the light of the fire, making her hair glow and shine with reds and yellows. 

A clock stuck, once, twice, three times, signalling that it was indeed already three in the morning. Ginny, in her half-awake state, sighed and nestled deeper under the protection of the duvet, wishing with all her heart that he would be safe, that he would come home soon. She couldn't stand the waiting, the wondering; to know whether or not Harry was coming home tonight, tomorrow, next week If he would even be coming home at all.

__

No, Ginny chided herself,_ don't think like that. He'll be safe. _

Yet, she couldn't shake the fear that something was wrong. It was as if she knew something something big and important was happening right now wherever he was. Something that could change their lives. She didn't like it, and she sipped some of her tea quietly, staring down into it's amber depths, playing with the string that held onto the tea bag, swishing it around and around, all the while thinking. Just thinking. 

Slowly, she felt her eyes flutter shut, and she pushed the cup of tea on the table in front of her, lying down, letting the blankets cover and keep her warm, and hopefully protect her from reality, at least for tonight. She made a small noise, letting her subconscious take over, to transport her into a life not her own.

What she dreamt of was a blur of images, colours and feelings. She shifted in her sleep as she entered a new dream, this one just as terrifying as all the others she saw that night. She saw Harry, she saw him lying on the ground, surrounded by his own pool of blood, his eyes clenched together in pain and fear, crying softly for everyone. Ginny, not far away, cried for him too, calling to him, but the fog that surrounded her dared not let her voice sound. A man stood over Harry, smiling maliciously down upon him, wearing a long robe and hood. Ginny couldn't see who it was as the hood cast a shadow over his face, but she could see the demonic smile, as pale skin and red lips laughed at her pain and sorrow. He turned to her. A single finger came to rest upon his lips, telling her to be quiet and as it hovered over the lips, the figure burst out laughing the devil laugh sounding about the dead plane of land. 

__

"Soon, he shall be no more. No more" the man told her, his voice a whisper in the wind. Ginny tried to fight the binding fog, to tell this man that he was wrong. Harry would live. Just like he always did. So he could come home to her. But the man shook his head, his shoulders shaking with evil laughter.

__

"Harry" Ginny tried to whisper again, but she herself heard nothing.

As though sensing her, Harry tried to get up, crawling on his knees towards her, one hand still holding his stomach as blood trailed after him. He finally reached her and she bent down to touch him, but every time she tried to help him, it seemed Harry moved farther away. 

Harry opened his eyes, to look at her, the tears falling down his face.

__

"Ginny Ginny" he called to her, his voice breaking and Ginny tried to call back to him, but she couldn't talk. Her throat would not work. _"Ginny"_

"Ginny, wake up," came a gentle voice and Ginny awoke with a jump. Looking up blearily, she saw Harry and almost cried with relief. He was staring at her, his eyes warm as he gazed upon her although they seemed oddly haunted. His face was cut a bit and smudged with dirt, but he seemed fine save the frown upon his mouth.

"Harry!" Ginny cried, throwing herself in his arms. "Oh thank Gods you're safe; I was so worried."

"I'm fine" Harry told her soothingly, yet it sounded as though he wasn't fine. "I'm fine, Gin."

"Don't ever leave me again, Harry," she told him, clutching him tightly.

"I promise I won't," he whispered back, giving her a kiss. "Let's go to bed; I'm tired."

"All right," Ginny whispered back, smiling, her eyes glittering in the firelight before following Harry to the bedroom, realising belatedly that something seemed off about him. Then again, it could just be the dream making her paranoid. Or not.

***

Draco Malfoy stood in the shadows of the room, waiting and watching. He felt out of place, like he always did, but could do nothing about it. It wasn't as if anyone was trying to make him feel welcome, either. 

He was in one of the rooms of Malfoy Manor that he didn't know existed; hadn't known until only a few days ago, when . . . when his father had shown him. It was a bare, large, and cold room, with scarcely any furniture, only a large desk and chair shoved up near the wall. The only light came from the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Just a few candles in it were lit, for no one who was in there cared for the brightness of fire too much. 

There were only about ten Death Eaters standing about in the room, which was a smaller amount than usual, since most of them were still off recovering from a recent battle. They were chatting quietly; Draco couldn't - and didn't care to - overhear their conversations. He knew whatever they were discussing wasn't important to him, and didn't concern him.

A tinge of fiery pain singed his right forearm, causing him to hiss quietly and pull back the black sleeve that covered it. There, burned into the paleness of his flesh, was the Dark Mark. He'd only receivedit three days ago, making him the newest Death Eater, but it still throbbed with pain often. The moment it was burned into his skin he'd nearly passed out, yet had somehow held on to consciousness for he knew that his father would be angry and disappointed if he'd fainted. He also wanted to prove to his new master, Lord Voldemort, that he wasn't a weakling; that he would be one of his strongest and most faithful supporters. If it meant biting his lip and taking in the pain without complaint, then so be it. Small price to pay if he wanted to be powerful and nearly unstoppable like Voldemort.

But after the moment the Dark Mark had been placed on him, Voldemort had never given him so much as another glance. Even though a little part of Draco was relieved of that, because he always got an unpleasant feeling in his stomach when Voldemort looked at him, it also annoyed him greatly. It made him feel insignificant, and that was not a feeling he took to lightly.

Still, what could he do? Complain? He would never do that. The only thing complaining to Voldemort achieved was torture. Sometimes death. It would depend on the mood the Dark Lord was in.

Now, Draco knew everyone was waiting around for their Master to arrive. No one ever knew exactly when he'd come. Whenever their Mark burned and turned black, they would all Apparate to the assigned meeting place; Malfoy Manor. They never asked the precise time, for Voldemort came whenever he chose. Whatever time was most convenientfor him was when he'd show up. 

Draco's impatience was rising in him. So far he'd been waiting for almost a half hour. And he was bored out of his mind. He'd always imagined, from the tales Lucius told over dinner, that being a Death Eater was exciting; adventurous; dangerous. But so far it just felt like being a slave to Voldemort. Having to go wherever he wanted them to go when he wanted them to, having to obey his orders constantly even if they seem incredibly absurd and pointless . . . Where was all the excitement his father spoke about?

At that moment, Lucius was probably with Voldemort somewhere. Draco knew that the Dark Lord favouredLucius over any other Death Eater, and hoped that it would be to his advantage to be the son of Voldemort's most trusted ally._Hopefully_, Draco thought with a frown, _once Father dies, I'll take his place._

Glancing around the drafty room again, Draco tried to occupy his mind by guessing who each Death Eater was without being able to see their faces; as usual, they all wore their hoods up, which darkened their features. That short one with the gleaming hand was most obviously Wormtail, and the taller man he was talking to was Nott. The two bulky figures conversing in low, grunting tones were Crabbe and Goyle (Draco knew that their sons, Gregory and Vincent, would become Death Eaters on their next birthday. They both happened to be born in the same month so their initiation was a couple months away).

Before Draco could try and identify anyone else, the door burst open, slamming against the wall behind it. Draco jumped slightly, startled, and felt a blast of cool air from the corridor whoosh in. A moment later, Lucius, hood down, followed by Voldemort, strode in. Lucius was looking incredibly smug, more so than usual, and Draco could only wonder what he was up to; why he was so thrilled.

The second Voldemort came in all conversation and ceased, and everyone was staring at him expectantly, knowing very well that they were not to speak before he did. Draco glanced at his Master's face, and saw that his expression wasn't all that different from Lucius' . Voldemort looked pleased, with the corners of his mouth upturned into a terrible smile. 

Draco knew right then that something was up. He rarely ever saw Voldemort smile. 

"Do any of you," the Dark Lord began in a low, slick voice, "know of the Silanus Aeternitas?"

There was dead, deep silence. Draco knew, with a smirk, that none of them had any clue as to what it was. Lucius shot him a look, making him realise that he was to answer. Draco wasn't sure the words meant, but he knew what language it was. He moved away from the wall and stepped into the light, saying quietly, "It's Latin."

Every head turned to him, including Voldemort's. Draco had never spoken out loud before in one of these meetings. In fact, he'd never spoken to anyone in the whole room except for his father before. It was uncomfortable to stand there, the centre of attention, but he kept an expressionless face and managed to look Voldemort directly in the eye.

"Very good, Mister Malfoy," Voldemort commended softly. Draco felt a tiny rush of pleasure, since Voldemort either called his followers simply by their last names, no "Mister" or anything, or by their first names, as in Lucius' case. Feeling a bit more encouraged, he lifted his chin slightly. "Do you know what it means?"

"Er - not exactly," Draco answered, trying hard to recall the few Latin words he knew. Before he could think too long on it, though, Voldemort went on.

"It means fountain of immortality," he said, turning his eyes away from Draco and looking at everyone else in the room. "And it does exist."

A low murmur rippled among the Death Eaters. They were now seeing where Voldemort was going with this. The Dark Lord was always searching for ways to become immortal. 

"Whoever drinks from this fountain will be invincible," Voldemort continued, quieting the Death Eaters. "A god. And it is achievable."

Draco pretended to wipe at his nose to hide an amused grin. Voldemort thought _every_ way was achievable, but he had yet to achieve it. But he bit his tongue, smothered his Malfoy instinct to make some witty, sarcastic remark by reminding himself that he couldn't insult his Master, and waited for him to go on.

"There is a book, written back during 252 BC, that states the exact location of the Silanus Aeternitas. A book that gives us precise directions. We are _very_ close to getting this book in our possession. We - being Lucius and I - traced its owner all the way up to the present year."

"Master, may I speak?" Nott growled.

Voldemort flicked his blood-red eyes on him and looked enraged for an instant before calming and saying, "Go on."

"Forgive me, Master, but . . . well, ah, are you even sure that this fountain . . . well, _exists_?" Nott asked carefully.

Voldemort chuckled; a dry laugh with no mirth and no trace of his rare cruel smile. "Of course it exists, you fool. 

"The reason you may have never heard of it," he went on after a slight pause, his chilling tone replacing his amused one, "is because it has been forgotten - buried under piles of myths and legends. Those few who do know of it are convinced it is mere fiction and not worthy to pursue. But those who think that are gravely mistaken. It's not fiction, nor myth, nor legend . . . it isreal." He spun dramatically then, his cloak billowing out around him, before fixing his gaze on Draco. "You, Mister Malfoy, will retrieve this book for me," he announced unexpectedly.

Draco was beyond surprised. Lucius had warned him not to expect to do anything personally for Voldemort until he'd been in his service for at least a month. _Three days, and already he wants me to do something important_, Draco thought, a bit arrogantly. _It must be a record._

"Yes, Master," Draco said in a steady voice.

"Master, if you'll excuse me, but why must the boy get this book?" Crabbe grunted.

"I believe it is in the custody of one of his old schoolmates," Voldemort replied slowly. "A little old lady owned it until just a few short weeks ago, when she died. She passed it down to one of her great grand-daughters." 

Draco's mind raced as he began to think of all the girls he knew at Hogwarts. "Who has it?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

To his relief, Voldemort didn't look bothered by his outburst. In fact, another awful smile crossed his features and he uttered the name, quietly and with a touch of malice.

"Ginny Weasley."

***

It was a beautiful morning, the sun shinning in on the kitchen counters, lighting up the exquisite room, making it warm and safe and happy. The smell of coffee was in the air, as was the aroma of the baking muffins in the oven. 

Ginny sat at the table, a duvet wrapped around her; a coffee cup warming one of her hands as she slipped it around the mug's handle. She was hunched over the table, one arm supporting her head as she looked upon the wood's surface, committing to memory its' every grain and nick it had. Harry was still asleep; Ginny had woken early and decided he definitely needed his rest, so she nicked the duvet from the spare bedroom and came down here to think. She was thinking hard, her mind delving into her memory, as she tried to remember remember every little memory about her great-grandmother, Nanan, as she used to call her. 

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'Nanan! Watch me! Look, I can do a cartwheel! Look! Look!'

'I'm looking, Ginny dear,' came the voice Ginny missed so much. 

'See? I did it!'

Laughter floated through the air and Ginny could almost feel herself smiling. 'Yes you did! Good girl; who taught you that?'

'Ron did. We're always together. It'll be me 'n' Ron always.'

'Of course, dear, of course.'

More memories came, slowly at first, but soon there were more than Ginny had ever remembered before.

__

'Nonsense, Molly, Ginny'll be no trouble.'

'Are you sure, Grandmother? She can be a handful sometimes. I'm afraid she'll wear you out.'

The laughter came again. 'I'll be fine, Molly. You just go home and take care of those boys. Ginny and I will be perfectly fine on our own.'

'All right If you insist. Good-bye, Grandma.'

'Goodnight, Molly.' 

'I'm stayin'?'

'Yes, Ginny, dear.'

'Yay!'

' and the witch and wizard lived happily ever after. The End.'

'Nanan?' A yawn. 'Do happilies ever afters really happen?'

'Yes, Ginny dear. See, right now? We're all warm, we have hot chocolate, and we're happy.'

'Is this our happily ever after?'

'Yes, Ginny, dear. This is our happily ever after.'

'Nanan, I miss Ron.' A sigh.

'What do you mean, Ginny?'

'I mean, it's his first summer back 'n he won't talk to me anymore. He keeps going on about all the stuff at Hogwarts 'n and all the friends he made.'

'Are you jealous, Ginny?'

A pause. 'Yes.'

'Why, Ginny?'

Another, more aggravated sigh. 'We always used to play all summer with each other 'n now he won't do anything with me!'

'Is that all?'

'Well no. He knows Harry Potter, Nanan. Harry Potter! Can you imagine? Ron, best friends with the wizard who saved the world'

'He's growing up, Gin. And soon, you will.'

'How are you feeling, Nanan?'

'Better than this morning.' A cough.

'Shh... Don't wear yourself out. I can go if you want to sleep.'

A feeble laugh. 'Ah, Ginny, darling, don't go. I miss you so.'

'I'm sorry I haven't been by lately. Everything has been so mad with the Dark Lord rising Did you know he attacked Brighton yesterday? I can't understand his motives.'

'Yes, I heard about that. So much evil so much evil in this world.'

'I wish I could help somehow,' came a mutter.

'You will, GinGin, one day. You'll see, you'll be exactly what the wizarding world needs.'

'Sorry, what was that Nanan? I didn't hear you.'

'It doesn't matter, Ginny, dear.'

Ginny stopped thinking, opening her eyes and realising that she was crying. Sniffing, she wiped at the tears and rubbed her face. She missed her great-grandmother. Nanan had always been so good to her; she had always been someone Ginny could turn to with her problems. And now she was gone. 

Sighing, Ginny got up, leaving the duvet on the chair and dumped out her now-cold coffee in the sink. As she stood at the sink, watching the last dreads of the caffeine fall down the drain, she felt a pair of arms circle her waist.

"Mornin'," Harry said, nuzzling her neck. 

"Why aren't you asleep?" Ginny gently chided.

"Couldn't sleep without you," Harry said, kissing her neck, then looked at her. "What's wrong?" he asked, seeing the tears in her eyes.

"It still hurts," Ginny said, biting her lip and shooting Harry a glance. He nodded and hugged her tighter. 

"I'm sorry, Gin. I know how much she meant to you. It'll take time"

"I know" Ginny sighed and turned to face Harry. "I'll get used to her being gone. I'll have to."

"That's my girl," Harry said smiling. "Now, what would you like to do today?"

"I was actually thinking of looking through the things Nanan had given me" Ginny said, sneaking out of Harry's arms and taking the muffins out of the oven. She placed them on the rack as she heard Harry's laugh behind her.

"You haven't looked at it yet?" Ginny shook her head as she began unloading the muffins from the rack onto a plate. "You could be rich for all you know!" 

"It's a chest, not a bond, Harry," Ginny said, coming to the table and offering Harry a muffin. He took it and thanked her as she sat down and took one herself. 

"You never know what're in chests, Gin," Harry said, with a reminder and Ginny smiled in spite of herself.

"I know. Well, I'll find out after breakfast, won't I?"

"Yep. Say, I have to run into the Ministry this morning; got an owl saying that they've found out something important. You don't mind staying here by yourself, right?" 

Ginny snorted. "I'm twenty-one, Harry, not twelve."

"Sometimes I have a hard time believing that," Harry said, laughing and jumping away from her swipe at him. "Actually," Harry said, looking at the clock. "I'd better be off now." He paused to give her a quick kiss and then grabbed his cloak. "I'll make it up to you for leaving you for so long tonight, all right?" he asked, looking at her as he shrugged his cloak on.

"All right." Ginny smiled and watched him go, before setting her muffin down and sighing. She might as well head up to the attic and open up the chest now. Walking upstairs, she felt happier than she had when she had woken up. Harry was back, he was safe and Ginny was so relieved that it proved as a worthy distraction from her great-grandmothers death.

She opened the ceiling door to the attic and pulled down the stairs that was attached to the door, before climbing up the stairs and into the attic. 

The attic wasn't like most attics in England. This one had been magically expanded so Harry and Ginny could stuff all their things they didn't use anymore up here, but there was still enough room for an extra bed and a sofa. Also, it wasn't dingy or dusty, but clean and fresh, having more than a few windows up there, making the air up in the attic smell nice and also allowed the sun to pour in when it chose to show itself.

All in all, Ginny loved coming up here from time to time for a peaceful nap, or to get away from the noise of the household and just read for a while in silence and solitude. 

Walking to the far end, where the chest rested by the bed, Ginny felt happy and at peace as she usually did when up here. Smiling, she knelt by the chest and opened up the lid, coughing as a few dust particles rose into the air. 

Ginny looked in and shook her head. Funny, there was only one thing in there, wrapped in brown paper. Taking it out, she knew it was a book. 

A book? Her great-grandmother gave her a book? _It must be some book, _Ginny thought.

Closing the lid, she lay the package on the top of the chest and ripped open the paper.

There lay, as Ginny had guessed, a book. And it was a very curious book, too.

The cover was a deep green leather, but there was w red border around it, that lifted off the cover, while something was written in the middle, but she didn't recognise the words; they weren't English. 

__

Wonder what that means? Ginny wondered as she ran a hand down the cover.* She shuddered, as she felt something run through her. It was as though something was reaching back into her, to touch her very soul. She could feel the stirrings of something within her and she felt alive. Opening the book, hey eyes lay upon yellowed parchment, once new but now discoloured with age. She couldn't make out the words, it was some language she didn't understand but there were drawings, maps actually, and Ginny studied it intently, feeling as though she needed to commit the pictures to memory. 

Her finger traced the drawings, the mountain peaks, the flowing rivers, the fields that were drawn upon the parchment. It seemed all so exotic to Ginny and she couldn't help but to turn page after page, taking in the drawings of the landscapes; of temples so high, they were above the clouds; of the deepest parts of the temples; of the pictures of gods and goddesses as they danced around the fire; and then finally, a drawing that filled two pages of the book, a drawing of a fountain, glowing in its' majestic power, and Ginny, upon looking at it, felt something A nagging at the back of her head, as though she should know this from somewhere, somehow. But however hard Ginny wracked her brain; she couldn't come up with anything. So she looked upon the picture again, memorising it, taking in every detail so she could always remember it wholly. 

"Gin?" a voice called from downstairs. Harry was home. "You up there?"

"Yes," Ginny called back, looking at the book with longing. For some reason she didn't want Harry to see this book; she felt as though she should keep it privet for now. She could always show it to him later, but for now It was hers and hers alone. "I'll be down in a minute!" she called again. 

Taking the book of the lid of the chest, she opened the lid and, biting her lip, laid it gently down upon the bottom of the chest, patting it as one would a pet and closed the lid, before standing up and wiping at her pants. With one last look, she walked out of the attic and down the stairs, to go find Harry. 

***

Ginny walked down from the attic slowly, the maps and drawings still swirling in her mind. She wondered vaguely why she had felt the need to inspect the book so, but nothing nagged her to pursue the thought further. It didn't matter – memorising it had been the right thing to do, so she wouldn't bother herself with it.

In the kitchen, she saw Harry at the sink with his back to her, slowly placing dishes in the drainer to dry. Completely preoccupied with her own wonderment and fascination with the book, she didn't notice that his shoulders were slightly hunched, and that he was moving sluggishly; the two signs that gave away his awful mood.

Sinking into a chair at the table, she silently hoped that Harry would leave the house again so she could retrieve the book and look at it once more. Even though she completely knew the maps by heart, maybe there was some clue as to what the text said. _I could try and figure out what language it's in_, she thought, biting her lower lip, _and find a book to translate it._

Before she could think any further, there came the noise of shattering glass. With a gasp she turned in her chair and glanced over at the sink. Harry had dropped a plate, and it had broke, its pieces scattered among the tiled floor. 

Briefly, she glanced at Harry's face. His lips were pressed in a thin white line of fury, his emerald eyes blazing – she could tell even from across the room. For a moment, he did not move; he glared hard at the glass on the ground. Ginny could almost feel the anger radiating from him, knew instantly that something was terribly wrong, but was afraid to even breathe, lest she cause him even more fury. All contemplation of the book in the attic flew from her thoughts.

After several heartbeats, Harry whirled around back to the sink and grabbed another handful of plates. With a cry of rage he heaved them across the room, where they slammed into the wall and exploded into a rain of glass pieces. Ginny jumped at the sudden movement and noise, turning her eyes from the broken plates that were once her mother's when she and her father had started out as newlyweds, and focusing back in on Harry. He was already reaching for more dishes, but she finally snapped into attention and stood up.

"_Harry_!" she screamed. "Stop it! Stop it right now!"

He released the dishes and they clattered back into the sink. Once again, he put his back to her, and leaned against the counter, lowering his head. 

Ginny pulled out her wand and whisked the glass into the nearby dustbin, knowing already that the plates that had belonged to her mother's family for generations were too ruined to repair. Then she hurried over to Harry's side, instantly forgiving him for breaking something that was so dear to her, for he seemed as though he were about to cry.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice gentler. "Harry, love, what's wrong?"

She stared at his profile – his eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw was clenched, and he was breathing loudly through his nose trying to calm himself down. Nearly a minute passed before he opened his eyes and met her gaze.

"Do you realise how pointless this is, Ginny?" he said quietly.

She couldn't help the startled look that came to her face. "What is pointless, Harry?" 

"This. The war. Against Voldemort. The slimy bastard's _never_ going to die."

__

This must have something to do with his Ministry visit, she figured. He'd been gone all morning, in town in London doing something with Dumbledore. Now she knew he must've been told something that made him depressed. "Of course he will, love. He's human still, whether he likes it or not. He's not immortal or godly yet."

"He's not human," Harry told her fiercely. "He might be mortal, though, but I doubt for long. He's got another plan."

"Another plan for invincibility?"

Harry nodded, then shook his head. Pushing himself back away from the counter, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Never mind, Gin. I don't want to bother you with it." 

She watched him as he put his glasses back on, then insisted, "You won't bother me. I promise you. What's he got planned now?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. A little too quickly. Besides, Ginny knew him too well. She knew that when he lied, he could never look her in the eye. And right now, he was looking beyond her at the sink. 

"You're lying," she accused. "I know you don't get upset over anything _but_ news about Voldemort. So what is it this time? A new object that makes him invincible?"

"It's nothing, Gin," he protested. "Nothing that you need to worry about. The Ministry will handle it."

He started to walk from the kitchen, but she followed close on his heels. "The Ministry will handle it," she repeated, "and you will mope and sulk around about it while I have to live with you. You're going to tell me what's going on, Harry Potter, even if I have to use a Veritaserum on you –"

They were in the hallway, and he stopped and spun to face her. "Will you just forget about it, Ginny? I'm sorry I ever even said anything to you," he muttered. He began striding back to the stairs.

She felt that familiar spark of anger light up inside her, and she scurried after him. "Is that the only thing you're sorry about?" she demanded sharply. She looked up at him, for he was already near the top of the staircase. "Aren't you sorry that you broke nearly all of my mum's old china that her great grand-mumused back in the beginning of the nineteenth century? And that she and Dad used when Bill was only a baby?"

"I'm sorry," he said under his breath. "I'll buy you some new plates."

She reached the upstairs landing. "I don't _want_ you to buy me bloody new plates," she snapped as he was stepping into the bathroom. She ran the length of the landing and managed to wedge herself in between the door and the frame so he couldn't shut it in her face. "Harry, tell me. Tell me before I get angry and move out."

His face was rock hard, but his eyes softened in a way that made Ginny realise the thought of her moving out terrified him. She'd only said it because she was caught up in a moment of fury, and wasn't really thinking rationally, but he obviously thought she meant it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself and her temper.

"I didn't mean that," she said softly. "But tell me anyway, Harry. Please. I don't want to know so I can be caught up in the gossip of the Ministry. I want to know so I can comfort you and understand what you're going through."

"It's Ministry business," he replied gruffly. "Confidential."

She frowned. "You know I won't fall for that. You've told me things that were confidential before. So tell me, Harry. Just tell me."

Harry sighed through his nose, dropping his head back against the door for a moment. Then he stared at her, his eyes softening, and reached up a hand to stroke her cheek. "You're the only one who would put up with me, you know that?" he asked gently.

She had to smile. "And you're the only one who puts up with me."

He smiled wistfully and dropped his hand, glancing away from her. "Like you guessed, Voldemort's got a new ingenious plan to become a god. And I'm afraid this time it might work."

"I kind of figured that part out," Ginny said, giving him a lopsided grin. "But what's his plan, exactly?" area 

"Some book," replied Harry, returning his eyes to hers. "Called something Latin . . . oh, what's it called . . . um, _Plagas Deuses_."

Ginny squinted her eyes. That name sounded very familiar, actually. Where had she heard it? She certainly didn't know what it translated to, or even what language it was. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"It's Latin – I think it translates to _plagas_ means regions, and _dueses_ means god. That must translate to _Regions of the Gods _or something of that sort," he explained.

"So he's after a book, and you're getting nervous?" Ginny asked slowly, giving him a confused look.

"It is what's in the book that gets me nervous," Harry said. "It's what's in the book when Voldemort gets a hold of it that bothers me. There's said to be a map, or some drawing or something, which will lead him to _Silanus Aeternitas._"

"What's that?"

"It's Latin, too. _Silanus_ . . . let's see if I can remember . . . it means fountain? And _aeternitas_ means eternity, immortality. Basically a fountain of immortality."

"So if Voldemort finds this book," Ginny began, "he'll find this fountain of immortality? And use it to become godlike?"

Harry nodded grimly, his mouth in a straight line. "Exactly."

"Then you'll just have to prevent him from getting that book, then," Ginny said, as if it were that simple.

Harry snorted. "I wish that's all there was to it. But we have no idea where the book is. Voldemort, knowing him, is probably on his way to get it from whoever has it, or wherever it is, as we speak."

***

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples, trying to rid herself of the ebbing pain that seemed to course between her eyes with every heartbeat. Opening her eyes, her gaze slightly blurred for a moment, she gazed down again at the papers in front of her.

"What is your secret?" she muttered to herself, picking up the parchment and ruffling through it again, the sound of the rustling paper the only thing in the still laboratory. It was pressing; this silence. The reason it was so quiet was that it was well past midnight. Hermione had meant to go home early tonight, to meet Ron for dinner to relax for once, when this--this artefact had been given to her by the Ministry of Magic. 

"You're the o'ly one we know; we trust ta figure 't oot," she remembered the head of investigations, Sean O'Harray telling her. "Wea've tried ever'thing known an' yet we cannot figure oot why 't's so important."

So, Hermione had agreed to stay, calling Ron up and telling him she'd have to cancel, something important had come in. She had spent all day, making notes about this artefact, trying to figure out what was so special. She had even called up Sean again to make sure there was no mistake. "Ay, no. Thair's somethin' 't's hidin'," he had told her, sounding grave. "Please, jus' keep lookin'."

Putting down her papers, she reached for her coffee, the only thing that was keeping her going now. Taking a sip, she spit it out and muttered a curse when she tastes bitter, cold coffee on her tongue. Frowning, she realised it must be later than she intended. Looking up, she saw that it was already past two. Closing her eyes again, she rested her forehead on her hand and took her hair out of it's ponytail. Rubbing her scalp, trying to get some feeling back into it as her ponytail had been pulling tightly on it, she glanced over at the artefact in question.

It looked like an ordinary urn, one you might find at an archeology dig, for it was extremely old, dating back at least 3,000 years. Carefully, Hermione pulled some laboratory gloves on, and picked it up. A deep colour of black, carved in gold, Hermione looked at the pictures on it. Warriors danced a still dance, shouting battle cries she could not hear, their arrows waved above their heads, as though ready to charge. Hermione smiled softly to herself, tracing one figure. His arrow was broken, she thought sadly, yet his face showed nothing of fear of dying because being unarmed. In fact, he looked confident, she thought, his eyes glinting magically, almost. Wait She peered closer. That arrow wasn't a broken arrow, she realised It had to be-

"Hermione!" a shout came from her and Hermione jumped, almost dropping the urn. 

Turning around she saw Harry. 

"Harry!" she said, setting down the urn and placing a hand over her beating heart. "Don't do that!"

"I wouldn't if you wouldn't work so late--Ron called, he's worried as hell!" Harry smiled, tiredly, and sat down on a stool across from Hermione. 

"You look like you haven't seen a shower or bed in ages," Hermione said, smiling.

Harry scowled and ran a hand through his hair. "Ginny and I had a fight," he mumbled, grabbing her cold cup of coffee.

"A fight?" Hermione asked, worried. "But you just got home. Shouldn't you both be in an sickening state of bliss?" Harry scowled again and lifted the coffee cup to his mouth. "Oh, Harry-" Hermione said, raising a hand as though to stop him.

Too late. He spat it out, coughing.

"Cold coffee?" he muttered, bringing the cup down upon the table with such force it shook the table.

"Sorry." Hermione smiled ruefully. 

"It's all right," Harry muttered. 

"So what was the fight about?" Hermione asked gently.

"Oh, I wouldn't tell her MOM business; you know how uptight she gets about those things." He paused. "Always wants to know where I'm going, what I'm doing, how much danger I'm in"

"She cares about you," Hermione reminded him softly.

"She's like a bloody mum, sometimes!" Harry said, frustrated causing Hermione to laugh.

"Oh, Harry," she said, wiping at the tears in her eyes. "Why don't you just get some rest? You'll work it out in the morning, okay?"

Harry sighed, but nodded, standing up. He looked at the clock and swore, before looking at Hermione.

"You go too then," he said.

"All right, all right," Hermione said. "But only because it'll get you and Ron off my back." Harry nodded, satisfied. Putting the urn in the protective cover it had come with before in the cardboard box, Hermione promised she'd find out what the secret behind the lone magical warrior was--but in the morning. Closing the lid, she grabbed her purse and left the building with Harry, locking it behind her. They hugged in the hall before each disapparating. 

* * *

That night, after covering Harry's sleeping form on the couch with a blanket, Ginny headed up the creaky stairs into the attic. She wanted to look at the book one last time before she retired herself. 

It was darker than she'd anticipated in the attic, for it was a cloudy night, and no moon or starlight came in through any of the several windows. Ginny quickly lit her wand and knelt on the dusty floor before her Nanan's trunk. The lid squeaked as she opened it, as if in protest. 

Biting her lip, Ginny brought the book of maps she'd been looking at earlier out and placed it in her lap. She brushed some dirt off the cover, and the wand-light hit the title of it at just the write angle. In shimmering gold letters were words of Latin.

Ginny sucked in a breath, her eyes widening in surprise. 

She traced the letters with her finger as she whispered, "_Plagas Deuses_."

* * *

**Authors's Note:** Reviews are nice. :o)


	2. Chapter Two: Ashes to Ashes

****

Desired Life

Chapter Two: Ashes to Ashes

__

By: FireSprite and MochaButterfly

***

Ginny clutched the book to her chest as she hurried down out of the attic. Her mind was racing, and her heart was pounding, but she couldn't think anything clearly or rational. The only thought she had was that she had to get rid of the book. She had to destroy it.

At the bottom of the attic staircase, she paused, looking around. What should she do? Shred the book with her wand and flush it down the toilet? No, shreds were too easy to put back together. Voldemort would easily be able to retrieve them from the piping if he wished.

She would burn it. Yes, that would work best. Then she'd flush the ashes away. It would be impossible for _any_ wizard, powerful or not, to reform ashes into a book.

Ginny went downstairs into the living room and started a fire with her wand. The flames were tall and devoured the wood hungrily. Taking in a deep breath, she threw the book into the fireplace before she could think twice.

Then she dropped onto the sofa, staring as the fire licked around the hard edges of the cover. Slowly, it began to curl and burn, giving the flames access to the entire book. 

Relief flooded Ginny's body, and she began to relax. Her head cleared and she was able to think a bit better, now that she knew the book was just about destroyed.

It was taken care of. In a moment, she would put out the fire and scoop out the ashes to flush away. Then the map that Voldemort was probably desperately seeking would be gone.

She closed her eyes briefly, and pictured the map as clearly as if it were in front of her. For a moment she imagined what it would be like, if she could find the fountain before anyone else, perhaps destroy it before Voldemort got to it . . .

With a gasp, her eyes flew open. She realised something that made her heart drop into her stomach. 

She knew the map by heart.

Even if the map itself was gone, _she_ was still here. She was a living map. If Voldemort couldn't get the real one, he would _know_ that she had it in her possession. Somehow, he would figure out that she could lead him there.

Panic rose in her again, and she forced herself to be calm. She wouldn't get anywhere if she couldn't think properly. 

Leaving the fire to continue burning, even though the book was a pile of soot, she stood on trembling legs and went upstairs. In their room, Harry was sleeping soundly. Ginny sat on the edge of the bed beside him, staring down at him. Normally he woke up so easily . . . it was good to know he was finally having an excellent night's rest.

Ginny sighed deeply, glancing at his face. The room was dark, and she could barely make out his features. Still, she found him so beautiful her heart ached. 

What was she going to do? Voldemort was most likely sending someone over to their flat that very moment to retrieve the book. He had to know where it was. He was too smart to be unable to find out something so simple. 

It was leading him to Harry. Even though the two had had countless encounters before, and Harry had always survived, Ginny knew that this time Voldemort wasn't after him. He would deal with Harry once he became invincible.

This time, Voldemort was after Ginny. He wasn't aware of it yet, but once he found that the book was gone and Ginny had indeed seen the map, he would take her. Torture her, use her to find the fountain he so desperately needed.

Ginny was aware of how much Harry loved her. It would just kill him, she knew, if Voldemort took her. Harry would kill himself trying to get her back. And then she wouldn't be able to bear it – the thought of not only him being dead, but knowing she'd caused it.

__

I can't stay here, she thought, sighing again. 

There was only one other option, and that was to leave. But it was a ridiculous option. Where would she go? If she left, she couldn't tell anyone. They'd come after her. She had too many people who loved her to the point of killing themselves to get to her. She couldn't tell a soul. 

Yet how could she stay? If she did, there was a chance Harry could be killed. If she left, then everyone would be safe. Or, at least, as safe as they had been even with Voldemort killing just about every person he came across. 

__

If I stay, she thought with a spark of hope, _then there's only a slight chance Harry could be killed. _Who knew if Voldemort would even suspect she knew the map by heart? Maybe he would just look over that choice.

That was just hoping, though. Voldemort was an insanely intelligent person. He would try every method possible to achieve what he wanted. It didn't matter who got hurt or who he killed in the process.

Besides, if she stayed, she was just being selfish. She was just doing what she wanted, to be around everyone she loved. She would have to leave if she wanted to keep them safe.

Ginny absently brushed a strand of hair off Harry's forehead, her heart heavy. Then she leaned over and brushed her lips over his. The warmth of his body was so inviting, she almost gave in to the temptation of resting on top of him and falling asleep, to forget every trouble that was bothering her.

But she had to be realistic. She would have to solve it soon – tonight – if she wanted to absolutely sure that he would be safe.

She stood and forced herself to leave the room. Drifting back downstairs, she sunk to the floor before the fireplace, trying to think.

No matter how much thought, the best idea that came to her was to leave Harry. To leave _everyone_. Just pack a few clothes, leave no note to anyone, and take the next train out of the country. 

__

I'll go to France, she decided, almost in attempt to buoy her spirits. She'd always wanted to go to France.

Ginny curled her legs to her and rested her chin on her knees. Even if she left, Voldemort or Death Eaters would come to their home anyway, searching for her. And Harry would be here. There was a big chance that he'd be at work when they came for her, but knowing him, once he found her gone without a trace, he'd stay home all day in hopes that she'd come home. So the bottom line was, she had to figure some way to get Harry to leave the flat, and pray he'd stay away long enough to avoid trouble.

Maybe she would leave a note. Say that she'd gone back to the Burrow because her mother had wanted some company. Then Harry would go to work, assuming nothing was wrong. It would take him until that evening to realise she hadn't come home yet, and then he'd go over to the Weasleys. Hopefully, by the time he returned home, the Death Eaters would've already come and left evidence that they'd been there, so he would know it wasn't safe. 

It was the best she could do, she told herself. The best she could do without telling anyone anything.

She pushed herself to her feet and pulled out her wand. She quickly put out the fire. The lack of heat and light suddenly made her feel her mood – dark, cold, and empty. 

It was what she had to do.

Trying to keep the tears under her lids, she turned and went to pack.

* * *

Draco strode down the long hall, his cape billowing out from behind him, as though he was angry and upset. His mind was working furiously, buzzing about with bits and pieces of half-formed plans and ideas.

Ginny Weasley.

The youngest Weasley of them all. _My, my,_ he thought. He hardly remembered the girl The last thing he remembered of her was his last year at Hogwarts. She had been yelling at Harry over something, and he remembered never knowing someone could have so much passion inside of them. Especially this one. She looked so sweet and calm from the outside.

It was apparent the Weasley temper reputation followed her. Harry must have done something pretty bad to get her this mad. She was yelling so hard, her face was red, her voice becoming rapidly husky and she looked about to curse him.

He'd never seen anyone look so alive as she did that day. But he had moved on, rapidly becoming the aloof Malfoy once again. And had forgotten the scene until tonight.

He entered his private quarters, slamming the door, liking the sound it made. Satisfying, the sound was as it reverberated throughout the house. Walking over to his chair by the fire, Draco sat down, taking a drink of whisky that was carefully prepared by house-elves for him. Sipping it, letting it slide down his throat, the burning feeling welcome, he wondered how he would find Ginny Weasley. Where had she gone after Hogwarts? he wondered. 

He didn't know where many of the Hogwarts graduates went after finishing. Except for those inside Voldemort's circle, he hadn't met anyone else since leaving and coming to stay in Malfoy Manor permanently. It had been a while, he mused, since he had even walked down Knockturn Alley. 

Trying to find Ginny though He sat and thought. He couldn't very well go to the Weasley household - nor would he want to - and ask the whereabouts of their youngest daughter. _That_ would prove fatal, he knew. No family was more protective of their children then the Weasleys. 

It seemed as though he would have to call in a few favours owed to him. Getting up quickly, he slammed down the goblet full of whiskey so hard on the table, the liquid sloshed over the rim and onto his hand. Flicking his wrist, ignoring the liquid, Draco strode over to his closet.

He would have to leave soon, tonight preferably, to make sure everything fell into their proper place by the weeks' end. If he was lucky, he'd have a lead by morning; but Draco Malfoy didn't believe in luck.

He grabbed a bag, pushing it down on his bed, and headed for the fireplace. Snatching a green bottle off the mantle-piece, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fire, causing the flames to turn blue, then green.

"Sierra," he almost shouted, "get into my room right away!" He didn't even wait for an affirmation from Sierra. He knew she'd come. She was trying so hard to please him. So far, he was happy. He wasn't bored yet with her. She was still young and nubile, perfect for Draco. She was always willing to try new things and was very enthusiastic; perhaps he might have kept her around for a few weeks if this hadn't come up. 

He walked over to his closet, grabbing things from hangers. This and that, he threw onto his bed. Pants, sweaters, anything he could find that was Muggle-like in appearance. He didn't know _what_ Ginny could be doing, and it was always safe this way. 

Someone knocked on the door and Draco knew it was Sierra. 

"Come in," he said, stuffing some of the clothes on his bed into the sack.

"You wanted to see me?" Sierra's nervous voice said, as she entered the room. Draco didn't like to see her before ten o'clock, usually. The middle of the day was unexpected. 

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice clipped and short. He finished packing, adding a small flack just in case and stood up, looking at the girl. For once, he looked at her, actually looked at her. She looked smaller than he remembered, her hair slightly mussed and her eyes wide and bright. She was scared of him, he realised. But she wanted him. He could tell; it was all in the body language. "Goodbye," he said, without tone.

"What?" Sierra said, almost a whisper. "But you can't - we just - you said -"

"I lied." Draco smirked. "You didn't think I actually loved you?" He could tell by her face she actually had. "Darlin'," he drawled, "I was using you to get into your pants. And I must say it worked quite wonderfully. Perhaps next time you shouldn't let a man so easily in your bed." Smirking still, he pushed her out of the door and slammed it in front of her startled, sad face. 

Walking over to his desk, he draped his cloak over the chair and grabbed his wand, immediately performing the spell for apparating to Knockturn Alley.

He had a job to do. He had to find Ginny Weasley. 

***

Ginny wrote the note to Harry, trying to control her trembling hand. Her feet ached to carry her back up the stairs and say goodbye to him – but she couldn't. She knew if she saw him again, she wouldn't ever leave. 

She needed to be strong. She couldn't think of herself now. Too many people that she loved could be hurt.

Satisfied with the note, glad it seemed to be written by someone who wasn't shaking with sadness, she set it on the counter. Then she turned, hoisted her bag of clothes over her shoulder, and grabbed some money from her wallet to stuff in her pocket. She didn't want to bring her purse – she knew it would be risky for Harry to notice she hadn't taken it to visit her parents, but she couldn't carry identification on her. 

Taking a deep breath, Ginny left the house as quietly as she could. Outside, the streets were quiet and deserted; everyone was asleep. She wished she were, too, with only the thought of how Harry would be depressed each day after work when he came home. Suddenly that didn't seem so terrible, because she would be with him. 

__

Stop it, Ginny snapped at herself. _Don't think of him. Don't._

She hurried down the sidewalk. When she was far enough away from their flat, she reached for her wand and raised her right hand. An instant later, the loud, roaring Knight Bus plopped down in front of her. 

The doors opened and an elderly man stepped out. "Signal for the Knight Bus, Miss?" he asked, squinting in the darkness at her.

"Yes," she replied shortly, stepping up with money in her hand. 

She paid him and got on. She choose a bed on the third topmost level, and even though the only person that shared the floor with her was a young woman lying with her arms wrapped around her sleeping son towards the front, she was sure to sit in the back corner. 

The bus jerked and was off again. Ginny set her things beside her bed and lay down, but knew she wasn't going to fall asleep. Fatigue and sorrow was coursing through her body, yet her mind was racing with too many ideas to even close her eyes.

So she would head to France. She couldn't take the Knight Bus the entire way; it wasn't that the bus physically _couldn't_, but by the time it did Harry would know she was missing, and she would want to be blended in with Muggles by the time he realised she was gone. 

Maybe the bus would just take her down to the coast, and she'd take Muggle transportation from there. Yes, that seemed like a good plan, and then she'd go to France and start her new life as . . . a Muggle.

Ginny sighed deeply. She was about to stand up and tell the driver her destination when the old man who had let her on appeared by her bedside. He was holding a cup of steaming hot chocolate, despite the fact she hadn't paid for any.

"It's free," the man said kindly, smiling and revealing several missing teeth. "You look as if you can use some colour in your face." 

Ginny, who was not in the mood for anything to put in her stomach, nodded anyway and thanked him with a tiny smile. She told him where she wanted to go, and he went back down to inform the driver.

She drank the hot chocolate as rapidly as she could, only so she didn't seem ungrateful for it. Setting the empty cup beside her bed, she peeled back the covers and crawled under, mashing her face into the pillow and trying to forget everything.

Yet there was still one question circling in her mind. Had her Nanan known about the book and its powers? Had Nanan given it to Ginny, while there were six other perfectly able grandchildren in the Weasley family alone, for a reason? 

Eventually, troubled by confusion, Ginny fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

Hermione inspected the ancient urn for what seemed like the millionth time that night. Tonight she was working far later than usual – it was nearly five in the morning now. She knew she wouldn't get any sleep this night, and she hadn't made any advances since the day before, even though she'd been looking at it nearly all day long. 

Was that thing the warrior was holding – the object Hermione had first mistaken for a broken arrow – was it a wand? It was possible, of course, but very peculiar – several wizards in South America had dug it up about a year ago and sent it over to the Ministry of Magic for more extensive studying. However, the many years that had passed since it was made was what made the whole thing so puzzling. South American wizards hadn't _existed_ until the early fifteenth century, when they migrated down from North America. So technically there was no such thing as a pure "South American" wizard. 

The urn, however, was just barely shy of 3,000 years old. There was no doubt of its age. Hermione was well aware, of course, that it was possible that if this indeed was an artefact of wizards, it could've been brought down from North America when the wizards and witches moved south. 

Still, there was the pressing question on Hermione's mind, troubling her even more then the horrendous headache she had. Why did the Ministry think it was so important? Why were they so eager for Hermione to figure out how it worked? For all she could tell, it seemed just like a regular urn that was made thousands of years ago.

Hermione looked very closely at the man who held what appeared to be a wand. He seemed _very_ confident indeed; as though he could take on the entire army, all yielding arrows, single-handedly. 

"Hermione?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin and dropped the urn, but caught herself just in time. Looking up, she saw Harry staring apprehensively in front of her. He must've Apparated there, and she'd been so absorbed in the artefact she hadn't heard the distinct _pop_ of his arrival.

"Harry," she said quietly, setting the urn down on the lab table. "What are you doing here? It's nearly daylight."

He scowled at her, and she knew she was in for scolding. "What are _you_ doing still at work?" he demanded. "You should've gone home hours ago, Hermione; you work too hard."

"Oh, I know," Hermione said breezily, waving her hand. "I'll go home early today. Promise."

His gaze softened, and for the first time she noticed he was troubled. "All right," he said.

"What's up, Harry?" Hermione asked carefully. Something told her it had to do with Ginny.

"It's Ginny," Harry replied, and she almost smiled to herself; she could read her best friend like an open book. "She, um, she went to visit her parents."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "Did you two have a fight?" she said, trying to be soothing. "Don't worry, Harry, she'll come back; she always does –"

"No, we didn't fight," he told her abruptly, causing her to raise her eyebrows. "We went to bed as normal, and I woke suddenly in the middle of the night to find her gone. I looked everywhere . . . and came downstairs and found this note."

He held out a small piece of parchment, and Hermione took it to read. Ginny's handwriting, unusually wavy at some places, covered it in emerald ink.

__

Harry,

I've gone to visit Mum and Dad. I heard Bill's coming home this week, so I would like to see him. I will be back in a few days. Go to work and go out to eat, okay? Don't try and cook for yourself; you know what a disaster that is.

All my love,

Ginny

Hermione smiled at the last line and handed the letter back. "Harry, it seems perfectly feasible. Why are you worried about it?"

Harry stared down at it one last time, folded it, and stuffed it back in his pocket before meeting her eyes again. "I'm not entirely sure, Hermione," he answered truthfully. "It's just – well, the little things. Why'd she go in the middle of the night? Did she wake up and have an urge to return home? And she's never, ever signed a letter _all my love._ It's normally just _love_ or _see you soon_ . . . and she also says, _go to work. _Why put such a silly thing? Did she think I _wouldn't_ if she was only visiting her parents? But I think the thing that really gets me is that we got a letter from Bill about three days ago. He says he's working on a really big case in Gringotts – something about a goblin mistaking a customer for a robber and leaving the poor bloke down in the tunnels to starve to death – and he mentioned how he wouldn't even be able to _sleep_ for another week. How could he come home if he was working on something so important?"

"Maybe they solved it quicker than they expected," Hermione offered, trying desperately to put the light back in Harry's eyes. She personally thought he was overacting about something so small. 

"Maybe . . ." Harry trailed off.

"Look, Harry, if you're so worried about her, then just go to the Weasleys and see if she's there," she said. "Have you seen Ron yet?"

"Well, no," he said. "You know how Ron is – for one, he's sleeping and will be royally pissed if I woke him, and another he'd go insane if I expressed my troubles to him. He'd overreact even more than me." 

A flicker of a smile crossed his face.

Hermione smiled, too. "Here's my suggestion, Harry," she said. "Go home and go to sleep. Go to work. If you find the time, send an owl to the Weasleys and make sure she arrived there safely. Don't worry about it anymore tonight . . . er, this morning."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "All right, Hermione. See you. You will go home now, won't you?"

She smiled wider. "Sure. I'll just have to clean up."

He nodded again, waved goodbye, and Disapparated. 

Hermione sighed and returned to the urn. There was no use trying to get any sleep tonight – she'd be waking up in a half hour to get ready for work anyway.

* * *

Harry Apparated outside the house Ginny and him shared and went to open to door. Half way through getting the key in the slot, he stopped and sighed. Taking a look at the note now crumpled in his hand, he made a quick decision. 

Something was off. He knew Ginny; he knew her well. And judging by her handwriting, the one that had sent him many letters and notes over the years, he could tell that there was a problem when she had written it. What, he didn't know, but he would find out. She needn't suffer alone. 

His face grave, Harry took the key out of the lock and Apparated to Ron's. He, of anyone, would know. Ginny trusted Ron in ways she had never trusted Harry. 

***

Ron opened one bleary eye, saw Harry and slammed to door in his face. Yawning, he turned around, absently scratching the back of his thigh and went back to bed. As he settled under the covers, his eyes closing blissfully, he ignored Harry's shouts to open the door. 

Two minutes later, Ron opened his eyes and glared in the general direction of the pounding. He'd never get any sleep. Grumbling, he tossed the covers aside and walked back to the front door where Harry was still hitting the door.

"What?" Ron snapped, opening the door so fast Harry almost fell in. "What is _so_ important that you had to-" he glanced at the clock and cursed, "-wake me up at five bloody o'clock in the fucking morning?"

"Is Ginny here?" Harry asked, ignoring Ron's question.

Ron yawned, loud and long, before replying. "No. She's probably asleep in your bed, Harry. Why don't you check there?" He went to close the door, but Harry stuck his foot in between the door and the wall. 

"She left me a note," Harry told him.

"Oh. Well, obviously _something_ is afoot. We'll have to call in the Aurors, now! No, wait; let's get the Muggle policemen into this too. Actually, let's just put out 'Missing Person' ads now."

"Ron," Harry stressed. "Read it." He shoved the crumpled note into Ron's hand. Rubbing his eye with the heel of the palm before reading, Ron scanned the note. 

"_Harry_," Ron said, as though he was talking to a five-year-old. "It says _right_ _here_ that she's gone to Mum's. Honestly, what is your problem?"

"But look at what she said," Harry said, pointing to the words. "And how it's written. Her hand was shaking when she was writing this."

"Argh," Ron grumbled. "Harry. Please. She was probably in a rush to see Bill. Gods knows how long it has been since she's seen him."

"So she had to leave in the middle of the night?" Harry pressed, sceptical still. 

"Sure," Ron shrugged. "Look. Ginny got excited, most likely, knowing Bill was back. She packed a few things and left. It's not like she was kidnapped or ran away or anything. Why would she do that?

"Yes," Harry said, his lips pressed in a thin line. "But Still"

"Are you going to let this go?" Ron asked, looking at Harry in exasperation. "Are you going to let me get my sleep?!" 

Harry said nothing. 

"Let me go change, then," Ron sighed, and slammed the door in Harry's face once again. 

***

Draco leaned back in his chair, his eyebrow raised in question and an icy sneer on his lips. He hoped to appear intimidating, but Daniels was showing no signs of being afraid. He only looked tired, and this was acceptable, being it was past five in the morning.

"So you've found her," Draco said simply, narrowing his eyes and just daring Daniels to look away.

"We have," he replied in a surprisingly smooth voice. 

Draco's respect for the man in front of him was growing. At first he had thought him weak, but he was now proving himself almost worthy to be in Draco's presence. Perhaps Daniels would become a Death Eater yet.

As Voldemort had risen to power, slowly and quietly, the Ministry desperate to keep everything hush-hush, he had got many followers just out of pure fear. Those followers weren't yet trustworthy enough to be Death Eaters – therefore, there was a period of time they had to prove themselves. They did this by working under the real Death Eaters, mostly just finding out things for them. And Daniels, along with several others, had had the job of finding out where Ginny lived currently.

There was a long stretch of silence, and the points Daniels had won with Draco quickly evaporated. 

"Well?" Draco asked sharply, impatient. "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to tell me anything?"

Daniels jumped, as though he hadn't thought of it. "You requested the information about Weasley," he said, reaching into his robes and producing a folder, "and I wrote everything we found out. So you have it in writing."

He clearly expected praise for being so brilliant, but all he received was a scowl as Draco took the folder. 

"Get of out here," Draco snarled, and Daniels retreated instantly.

Draco was in the office his father had given him, the closest he came to congratulating his son on becoming a Death Eater. Draco wasn't complaining about the lack of pride Lucius revealed, since the room was spacious and nicely furnished. 

Propping his feet up on his desk, he dropped the folder into his lap. He opened it, and was greeted by a picture of Ginny grinning widely at him. She didn't move except for blinking every now and then, but as he studied her face, she finally got tired of smiling and stopped doing so. 

Draco smiled himself. It was a very different smile, of course, because it was cold and the purpose of it wasn't because he was happy. It was because the youngest Weasley looked exactly as she had in Hogwarts, except maybe for years' knowledge that shined in her eyes. She looked wonderfully innocent, and he knew then charming her wouldn't be a problem in the least. If he was lucky, he might be able to persuade her to come with him without even using magic.

He flipped her picture aside and began to read through what Daniels had written about her. _Age: 21. Birthday: May 13th, 1981 . . ._ Draco skimmed all the boring facts about her until something caught his eye.

__

Resides with Harry Potter.

He snorted. Of course. They were married. And they probably made a disgustingly perfect couple. All at once he was glad he had this job – not only would be bring the tool that Voldemort needed for invincibility, but he would ruin Harry's life in the process.

Excellent.

However, he didn't read far enough. Right after that sentence was one word – _Unmarried._

Well, it didn't matter. If they lived together, obviously they were in love. It would most likely still wrench Harry's heart from his chest . . . maybe it would drive him to suicide, if Draco was lucky enough.

His spirits just about as high as they could get, Draco tossed the folder aside and smiled again. 

Yes, this definitely was going to be a _very_ fun job.

* * *

Harry and Ron Apparated to the Burrow. When they arrived the room was empty and dark – obviously, Mr. and Mrs. Weasely were still asleep. Ron muttered something about how he still should have been, too.

Suddenly Harry felt a little ashamed. "They won't be upset at being woken up, will they?" he asked.

"Why do we need to wake them up? We'll just check Ginny's room. She's bound to be sleeping there, and then you'll see there's nothing to be worrying about." Ron said the last part of the sentence bitterly.

So they headed up to the third floor landing, where Ginny's bedroom was. Harry went ahead a knocked gently, and without waiting for an answer, pushed the door open. 

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust, but it didn't take very much to see that Ginny's bed was smooth and made. There was no sign anyone had even _sat_ on top of the sheets. 

"Maybe she's having a snack in the kitchen," Ron said lamely.

"I'm going to wake your parents up," Harry announced, forgetting about being reluctant to wake them.

Harry had never been in Molly and Arthur's bedroom before, but it was evident it was the biggest bedroom in the house. Up against one wall was a large bed, lumpy with two sleeping forms. Loud snores that Harry recognised to be emitted from Mrs. Weasley filled the air, and he wondered how it was possible for anyone to fall asleep in a five mile vicinity, much less the same house, and _very_ much less the same bed.

"I'll do it," Ron volunteered. 

He didn't sound so sleepy anymore.

Harry nodded and watched Ron, almost cautiously, approach the bed and nudge his mother gently. It took him three tries before Mrs. Weasley jerked awake with a loud, "Whassat?" She rolled over, blinking the sleep from her eyes, and saw her youngest son standing beside her.

"Ronald?" she asked thickly.

"Yeah, Mum. Is Ginny –?"

Beside her, Mr. Weasley woke up, too. "What's wrong?" he asked a bit stupidly.

"Is Ginny here?" Harry hurried to put in.

Molly sat up and squinted through the darkness. Her hair was in rollers. "Harry?" she said. Then, the fact that someone besides her family was in her room sinking in, she put a hand to her head. "Oh! I must look terrible. Excuse me, boys."

She scrambled into an adjoining room, which had to have been the loo.

Ron scowled at her, then turned back to his father. "Dad, did Ginny come –?" he tried again.

"What are you doing here, Ron?" Arthur cut in, sitting up. He half-heartedly tried to smooth down what hair he had left. "It's . . . nearly five thirty in the morning."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, Dad." Ron appeared to be controlling his temper. "Is Ginny here?"

"Where?" Arthur said through a yawn. He must've still been half asleep.

"_Here_. At the Burrow," Ron explained slowly.

"No. Why would she be?"

Ron met Harry's eyes before Harry turned and strode from the room.

He _knew_ it! He knew there was something weird with Ginny's letter. Even if no one else had seen it, he had. And now they'd wasted time they could've been using to find out where she went. 

__

Why would she leave?

The question surfaced in his mind, quickly followed by _Maybe she doesn't want to be found._

Well, if she didn't want to be found, that meant she wanted to get away from him. And Harry knew that if Ginny was breaking up with him, she would tell him to his face and try and explain. She wouldn't leave a fake note and just leave without a word to him. That wasn't her style.

Something wasn't right. And he intended to find out what wasn't as soon as humanly possible.

***

Draco stepped onto the gravel outside the house where Ginny was supposed to live with Harry. He sneered, a reflex as he looked at the house. Quaint. The only word that came to mind was how quaint the place would be. All nicely wrapped up in a small package. 

"Yegods," he whispered to himself. "It's worse than I thought it would be." Shaking his head, he walked up to the door, waving his wand and whispering an incantation to open the door. Dark magic, but it worked--the door opened. 

Draco stepped inside and almost winced. It was like a little cottage. Oh, it almost hurt to look at it. A fireplace, a cozy couch with blankets strewn across them, coffee cups, pictures waving and smiling and the whole place had a happy atmosphere. 

How could they live like this? 

Trying not to shudder or be sick, Draco walked in, his boots making a nice thudding sound as he walked across the wood surface, towards the couch. It looked as though someone had been recently there. Pressing his hand against the blanket, he felt warmth. Yes, someone had recently been sleeping here, less than half an hour ago. 

So, where were they? 

Taking a long look around the room, Draco decided that they weren't downstairs. He could see the kitchen from here. Walking over, he ran his hand over the surface and looked at his fingers. Coffee grounds. That was it. And a pad of parchment and a quill. Other than that the whole place was clean and tidy. 

"Well at least they're clean," he said to himself. 

Walking upstairs, Draco moved quietly on the stairs, making sure none of them creaked. Once upstairs, he paused, holding his breath and checking to see if he could hear any sounds of sleeping or movement. _Were they not home?_ he wondered. 

Following the hall, Draco walked into the last room on the floor. The Master bedroom greeted him. _Hmmm,_ Draco thought. If there was any indication as to where Ginny might be or perhaps just where the book was (H_ow easy would that be?_ he thought. _Grab the book and leave; would solve this all._) it'd be here. 

Crossing the room, Draco pulled open the dresser door and sifted through its contents. Clothes, underwear, bras, this must be Ginny's drawer. Pulling out another drawer, he noticed it was almost bear. Yanking out the last drawer, Draco noticed that the clothes seemed to have been sitting there for ages. _She doesn't wear these anymore_, he though, holding up a tiny T-shirt. It looked like the shirt would fit an infant 

__

Some of her clothes are missing, Draco realised. There were hardly any clothes in these drawers, Ginny would definitely have more than these few items and unless Quickly he walked over to the closet and yanked it open. Yes, it was all Potter's stuff. Nodding, his theory confirmed, Draco swore rather creatively. 

Ginny had fled already. 

***

His jaw clenched in frustration, Draco ran down the stairs, taking two at a time. This was _not _what he had planned. He was supposed to track Weasley down, intimidate her with his sneer and height, then grab the book and hand it over to Voldemort, who would praise him indefinitely and make him second in command, whence he would take over Voldemort and rule all. 

Why did nothing work to his way? he thought. _All I wanted was a little ruling, power, a slave or two. Is it so hard to ask for that?_

Reaching the living room, Draco was about to grab the nearest thing and throw it against the wall in a wail of self-pity when he saw something by the fire grate. Ashes. 

Coming closer, Draco crouched down on his knees and inspected them. It looked as if something had been purposely burnt. Narrowing his eyes, Draco dipped two fingers into the ashes and brought them to his nose. Sniffing, his heart sunk. 

These ashes weren't wood ashes. Wood ashes had a more primitive smell. These ashes They had burnt something magical. It was obvious by how Draco's senses buzzed when he sniffed the ashes. Magic. 

She wouldn't have She couldn't have! 

"Bitch," he whispered.

In a rage, Draco stood up and stared at the ashes for a moment, unable to believe what he suspected. No, no. She wouldn't. She couldn't know they were after her. 

Unless Potter had told her Draco didn't know how close they were. Would Potter tell her classified information? Clenching his jaw again, Draco sighed heavily. He would have to track Ginny down now, and find out what she had done exactly with the book. 

It was not his day today.

So, where was she, then? Draco hadn't the faintest idea where Ginny would be at this point. Taking out a piece of parchment, he scanned the information his confidant had given him on one Virginia Elizabeth Weasley.

__

Works at Miss. Mudane's Magical Books.

Well He knew where that was. Diagon Alley. Perhaps she was working today, unaware that people were after her and what the book held. One could always hope. 

__

Can't say I didn't try, Draco thought to himself as he walked out the front door and locked it again. 

__

I hate Weasleys, he thought as he Disapparated. 

***

****

Authors' Note: Whew! It's finally done. Sorry for the wait, everyone, it's been really busy. Well, we thought that if we wrote out individual thank yous for the reviews it would take an extra two months, so there's none this time, but next time we will do that. Thank you, though, for everyone who reviewed. We love you guys!


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